


i kick the living shit out of me

by crookedsaint



Series: tumblr minific prompts [1]
Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Rated T for drinking fighting and swearing, operation let jaylen beat up tillman henderson, secondary operation let sutton dreamy go to fancy parties, tertiary operation force tillman henderson to talk about his self image openly, the three ingredients for any good party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:35:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28139295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedsaint/pseuds/crookedsaint
Summary: “I mean, it’s not like anyone wanted him back, right?”Jaylen tossed her head back, laughter dry and cutting. “Yeah. The guy’s persistent, I’ll give him that—and not much else, am I right? Ha, no, but honestly. He did everyone a favor. According to the Data Witches, without his last-minute campaign, I’d have been stuck on the Immaterial Plane when the nut came knocking. And what kind of hero would that make me?”
Relationships: Jaylen Hotdogfingers & Tillman Henderson, Jaylen Hotdogfingers/Sutton Dreamy
Series: tumblr minific prompts [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2090748
Comments: 5
Kudos: 18





	i kick the living shit out of me

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to ferrets for the prompt! this one's jaylen & tillman for "things you said that i wasn’t meant to hear"
> 
> cws for alcohol, fisticuffs, and... i don't know how to warn for tillman but yknow. [gestures at him] tillman
> 
> title from my own worst enemy by lit! recommended listening that, as usual, is just the song i looped while writing this: draw a crowd by ben folds five. 
> 
> bon appetit!

“I mean, it’s not like anyone wanted him back, right?”

Jaylen tossed her head back, laughter dry and cutting. “Yeah. The guy’s persistent, I’ll give him that—and not much else, am I right? Ha, no, but honestly. He did everyone a favor. According to the Data Witches, without his last-minute campaign, I’d have been stuck on the Immaterial Plane when the nut came knocking. And what kind of hero would that make me?” She flashed that million-dollar-smile of hers, the one that’s landed her magazine appearances, guest star roles, and the hearts of every woman who’s ever had a passing interest in other women. The one that’s fake, yes, theatrical, yes, but so crinkled and sweet you can’t help but hope it’s real.

Tillman swore under his breath and took another sip of beer.

“Somethin’ the matter, Henderson?” Someone socked him in the arm, gentle, but present. Silvaire.

“So not the person I want to talk to,” he muttered. He leaned back, letting the wall knock the wind out of him.

Silvaire leaned into his shoulder. The touch wasn’t welcome, but he couldn’t pretend it wasn’t nice. “I know it bothers you when I harp on, but, if you got somethin’ you need to talk about—”

“There’s nothing I—”

They cracked their knuckles, the sound audible even over the swarm of reporters. “—I’m a pretty eloquent gal.”

“Oh.” He sighed. “Nah, but. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” They tipped their hat, sliding comfortably back into the party and leaving him and his—fourth? Maybe even fifth?—beer to their private conversation.

And then he wasn’t just Tillman Henderson stuck in a dark corner at a press gala. He was Tillman Henderson stuck _alone_ in a dark corner at a press gala, which was a step too far, even for him. He loosened his tie in a way he half-hoped would raise questions about where he’d been, pulling a few hairs out of his ponytail for good measure.

The lights weren’t so much oppressive as they were _excessive._ San Francisco mansions were not, he decided, all they were cracked up to be. From the ceiling hung colorful Tiffany-lamp glass chandeliers, probably sold as _charmingly eccentric,_ filling the room with a sickly, yellowed light that managed to dull everyone’s complexion while still giving Tillman a blaring headache. Not that the headache ever went away, of course. Not even with blackout curtains and headphones and league-mandated therapy and melatonin. Still, it wouldn’t kill the Triumphant family to catch some taste.

“Henderson!”

“Fuck off,” he growled, the response automatic at this point in the evening. Upon looking up, though, he spotted Dreamy. She was draped over the arm of an asymmetrical couch, her legs propped up to save someone’s place. God, and she probably liked that ugly old thing. If he’d been looking for taste, he sure hadn’t found it.

“How are you doing?” She reached out a hand.

He swatted it away. “Same as always.”

The sound she made was half-pitying and half-mocking. “And you’re still drinking that same shitty beer?”

“You know it.”

“Can’t I get you something stronger? It’s been almost a year now.” _Since I saw you_ , yes, but there was an unspoken _since they left._

“‘S only a year, Dream. I’ll be fine. So, what—”

Something cold splashed on his shoulder. “Shit, sorry.” Jaylen flashed him a smile, the gesture more impulse than kindness. “Let me get you a…”

Tillman cleared his throat.

“Thanks, Jay, let me just—” Dreamy was standing already, taking the two drinks out of Jaylen’s hands. One was a rocks glass full of something amber, neat. The other was some pink frothy concoction that, admittedly, had probably looked quite impressive—that is, before Jaylen had spilled half its contents onto Tillman’s blazer.

“No, no, Dreamy, it’s okay. I’ll go and get you another one.”

“You know, I’m not actually that—”

Maybe this wouldn’t be such a terrible evening after all. “No, you won’t,” Tillman said, keeping his affect light and flippant. “You’re not going anywhere, Hotdogfingers.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “I’m not?”

“Heard you were talking shit.”

“And if I was?”

Some of the froth slipped off and fell to the floor with a soft _plop._ “Try saying it to my face next time, huh? See how that goes.”

“Uh huh.”

“I’m telling you,” he said, turning to face her. “I don’t fuck around. If I catch you saying shit like that again, you’re gonna catch these hands. Swear it.”

Jaylen crossed her arms. “Oh, yeah, because you’re always one to keep your promises, mister I-would-simply-not-die.”

He unbuttoned his cuffs.

“Tillman,” Dreamy hissed. “We are in public. There are cameras.”

“And _Jay_ has a lot to say to them, don’t you?” He grabbed Jaylen by the shoulder, his heart rate leaping as she tensed under the touch. He’d missed that thrill. “I was gonna let it go, but Frisco’s expensive, you know? Dry cleaning’s not gonna pay for itself.”

“You have more money than God, Henderson.” She grabbed his wrist, short nails digging into his now-bare wrist.

“So do you.”

“Come on, both of you. You’re better than this.”

“Is she?” Tillman fixed his gaze on Dreamy. Out of the corner of his eye, he could spot the crowd receding and—yes, the press pushing forward. “This is a murderer we’re talking about here.”

Dreamy sighed. “Tilly, we’re not having that conv—”

“Don’t Tilly me.” He tightened his grip, yanking Jaylen forward by her blazer. “You came here looking for a fight, didn’t you, Hotdogbitch?”

Jaylen’s eyes darkened. “You and I both know,” she said, voice quiet and measured, “That we do what we have to do to get by.”

“Sure. And we say what we have to say.” He shoved her backwards. “That’s why you’re talking shit? To get by?”

“Tilly, you’re going to embarrass—”

“Who? The Shoe Thieves?” He pulled the stupid fucking blue-and-yellow lapel pin Cornelius had given him off of his jacket. “There. Now I’m not embarrassing anyone.”

“ _Me._ ” Dreamy put herself between the two of them. “You’re making a fool of yourself.”

He looked past her, locking eyes with Jaylen. “Damn, Hotdogfingers. You outdid yourself with this one. You’ve gone and turned Sutton Dreamy turned into another self-obsessed weirdo like you.” He tossed the pin over his shoulder, putting on an indifferent expression. “Impressive, if I’m bein’ honest.”

Jaylen’s eyes flicked between him and the pin as it skittered across the tile. “Listen, I’ve been here before, Henderson.”

“Oh, don’t worry.” He took out his ponytail, glancing at the phones starting to slip out of suit pockets and purses. Perfect. “Not like I’ve got anything to bean you with.”

“You’re seriously going to do this. With _everyone_ here.”

He scoffed. “You’re the only one worried about looking bad at this point.”

“Put your fists where your mouth is,” Jaylen snarled. “They talk less.”

“That doesn’t even make _sense,_ ” he said, and threw all the weight he had into a right hook.

He didn’t expect it to come away bloody, but maybe he should have. As soon as he spared a glance at his fist, though, one collided with his ribs and _shit._ Jaylen _could_ punch. He staggered backwards, refocusing on her red-splattered face, and saw something new and bright-eyed looking back at him. He wheezed, trying to catch enough breath to counter, but she was faster than him. A _crack_ rang out as she smashed his jaw upwards, a coppery taste instantly filling his mouth. He shuddered, shaking his head, and something warm and wet trickled out from between his lips. 

“Finished already, Henderson?”

He replied by charging her, hand buried in her collar before she could get another word out. Tugging her with him, he dropped to his knees, pinning her neck under his forearm. Her hands immediately clamped around it. Tillman grinned as he processed the opening, taking the time to imitate the glint in her eye when she pitched, the one everyone was so _afraid_ of. There was some deep part of him that reveled in the idea of breaking her perfect fucking nose. Or, hey, better yet, shatter her perfect fucking face on one of those lamps, two birds with one stone, two crimes against taste in one—

Something clanked on the tile decidedly larger than a lapel pin. “Now this won’t do.”

“Knight,” Dreamy gasped, and that was enough to snap him out of it. Enough for Jaylen to scramble backwards.

“Please, please.” They waved off the media, gauntlets glimmering in the amber light. “Either you settle your differences honorably, with a proper duel, or you do not settle them in my home.”

“Psh.” Tillman smoothed his hair out of his face, half-hoping some of the blood on his hand would leave a mark. “Honor is for chumps.”

“Honor,” Knight said, voice deep and solemn as the grave, “is for anyone brave enough to pursue it. You, Tillman Henderson, are a coward.”

“Sir, I’m sorry about him,” Jaylen began, but Knight cut them off.

“You too, Jaylen. You are too brash, too careless with your reputation.” They inclined their head slightly. “And with those of others. You are welcome to continue via formal arrangement.” They sighed. “Or, should you be so gutless, you may leave. Nothing binds you here but your word, and I can see that it is worth little.”

Dreamy was too busy _fussing_ over Jaylen for there to be anyone to stop Tillman. So he walked out. Knight was right: nothing _did_ bind him there. Nothing but his ego, which, hey. That bastard had had its turn.

The night air hit him in the face, colder and damper than he remembered. What followed was that same terrible feeling in his gut from after games: an ache of overexertion, of something always approaching nausea but never quite getting there. He leaned on the porch railing, willing himself not to lose his balance in front of the open doorway. 

He took a breath. In. Out. He should probably get something to eat. Couldn’t go around drinking like a frat boy if you weren’t prepared to nosh like one, too.

“Henderson, you weren’t meant to hear that.”

He snapped around. Immediately regretted it, because his head took a solid seven seconds after the fact to stop swimming. “Haven’t had enough?”

Jaylen scoffed, the sound fading into a shiver. She’d shed her jacket somewhere inside. “If I wanted to keep scuffling with you like a fuckin’ middle schooler, I would have smacked you with a glove.”

“What?”

She stared at him, soft footsteps carrying her to the rail beside him. “You were never a castles and dragons kid, huh?”

“I was never a fucking nerd, yeah.” He avoided her gaze, looking instead out onto the San Francisco skyline. “Get lost, Jaylen. I’ve heard enough condescending bullshit out of your mouth for one night.”

“I’m not trying to condescend.” There was some bite back in her voice, now. “I know what you’re doing.”

“Getting payback for you slamming me to the press?”

She let a breath out through her teeth. “Is _that_ what this is about?”

“Can’t let people think I’m just here to play second fiddle.”

“No second chair,” she muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing. Listen.” Jaylen leaned forward onto her elbows, slipping into the corner of Tillman’s eye. “I just came her to set something straight. You can have whatever beef with me you want. Just don’t do it in front of Dreamy.”

“Oh, so you do care about someone’s opinion beside your own.”

“Not funny. She might have been your teammate, Henderson, but.” She turned her head. “She’s stuck with me. It means a lot. Don’t like anyone alluding that I manipulated her or anything.”

“And I don’t like anyone alluding I’m some _narrative device,_ but maybe this is why we were fighting.” He twisted around, turning his back on Jaylen and the city. “This isn’t something you get to fuckin’ compromise on.”

Her voice was quiet. “We’re all narrative devices. Keep up.”

“Come again?”

“We’re all just fucking tools.” The lights inside twisted and blurred through the warped glass of the window. Tillman couldn’t make out a single person he knew. “Me and Mike more than most. Me and Mike and you.”

“I don’t want to be in any club with you and Mike Townsend,” he said, but his heart wasn’t in it.

“We don’t get a choice. People see something they like and they take it.” She almost sounded… no, it couldn’t be sad. There was too much edge. “People always do. And we cope. We deal with it however we know how, and both of us go along with the story we got stuck with, ‘cause it’s easier than trying to be a person through all of this.”

“I don’t know. Sounds like you talk to Dreamy too much.”

“Maybe I do.”

He liked to think if he squinted he might be able to make out the pink-purple shape of her hair, but he knew that probably wasn’t true. All he saw was the same flood of black and gray and navy against amber as always, . “You know I’m just…” He pushed down the part of himself begging to just throttle Jaylen and leave. “I just worry about her. Right?”

“Another thing we have in common.”

“Just, like, why does she even care? I know she’s allergic to giving up on someone, but.” At some point he’d gotten stuck staring right at the big, central chandelier inside. That must be the reason his eyes started to prickle and burn. “Why you, of all people?”

“I ask myself that every day.” Jaylen snorted. “She puts up with a lot, between the two of us.”

“Ever thought about taking it easier on her?”

“Never.”

“Not the kind of people we are, huh?” Tillman ignored the way his face flushed, the way he knew he was inches from something actually embarrassing. 

“We?”

“Maybe you’re right,” he admitted.

“Big step. Proud of you, splort.”

“No, really.” He turned around to see Jaylen still leaning on the banister, her forehead resting on her hands where they were clasped in front of her. “Fighting’s what they want, anyway, right? Me playing the heel to your, I don’t know, face turn?”

She laughed that same bitter, crisp laugh from before. “I don’t think I get a face turn.”

“Doesn’t matter. They think you do, so you do. We’re just a bunch of tools.”

“Speak for yourself, tool.”

“Speak for your _mom._ ”

He laid a hand on her shoulder. She didn’t tense up this time. His heart, ever the traitor, stayed steady.

“Asshole.”

“You know you love me.”

“Like hell I do.”


End file.
